Flight of Death
by No Such Thing As Normality
Summary: Post-Singing. Hem is unable to come to terms with Zelika's death, even months after the event. Will he ever be able to come out of depression? Short chapter fic.
1. A Reflection

**A/N:**First Pellinor fic and first chapter fic. It's about Hem and Zelika, because there just aren't enough fics about them. Minor spoilers for The Crow and The Singing. Enjoy!

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**A Reflection**

Hem hadn't permitted himself these thoughts for months now. Every time something had arisen that reminded him of her, he'd simply pushed them away to the back of his mind, and desperately tried to occupy himself with something else. Something less damaging, and less destructive. Something that would not send him spiralling downwards in an endlessly binding, all-consuming black torrent of despair if he thought about it freely.

But now, on the anniversary of her death, it was different. The pain was even rawer then at any other time, and yet it was far easier to face. In this special place on the boundaries of Turbansk, emotions and thoughts could spill boundlessly from his head in an unending stream of grief without rending his soul in two as they would at any other time or place. Here on the beautiful sandstone wall overlooking the surrounding landscape, he could truly be free and himself.

As strands of thick black hair played around his head in the gentle breeze, he watched the sun come up above the hills and slowly come to strike the great gold suns that adorned the city. The soft, weak light illuminated the newly-planted vines, shrouding them in a warm glow that made the plants seem oddly animated. They almost seemed to welcome the presence of the sunlight touching their dark green leaves, as if they had missed the great life-giver in its absence.

They had survived the dark, the twilight that covered their limbs with a corrosive sluggishness and death, to emerge into another glorious day of renewed growth among the beauty of the sun. So why couldn't Hem? Why could he not escape the aura of despair that surrounded him, even though he had such good friends? Irc, who did not understand human pain, and yet gave Hem such entertainment in a futile effort to withdraw his companion from his new-found depression. And Saliman, who understood exactly what his once-youthful companion had endured, and gave his wordless help in any way he could. And his sister, Maerad, his victorious, valiant sibling, whose exploits had once given him such amazing enjoyment and absorbed him so fully. None of them could even lift by one finger-width the all-consuming curtain of sadness that threatened to overwhelm his life.

He had loved her; he knew that now, with all the passionate fierceness that came from knowing that nothing could be done about it. He longed to tell her how he had felt, and yet he never could. For she was dead, and it was all his fault. He should have protected her, prevented her from trying to rescue her brother, Nisrah. Even though he knew that, at the time, it had been impossible, it did not stop him wishing with all his heart (if he could call it that now, after so many months of mindless grief) that he had done it. Never could he forgive himself for not being there when she most needed him.

Hem raised his tearless eyes slowly to the horizon. The sun was still only creeping upwards, the shadows only minutely shorter than when he's first sat down on the boundary wall, but it felt as if years had passed. Normally, after one of these monthly sessions, his heart would feel somewhat lighter, as if a great weight had been dropped from his shoulders, but this time the despair was still thick as ever, and possibly even denser, weighted by his released feelings. Hem sighed slowly, and stepped backwards, back into the shadows of the fortress city, and slowly began to make his way back towards Saliman's house.

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**A/N: **Well, that's the first chapter. All reviewers get lettuce pies!!!


	2. A Conversation

**A/N: **And here's the second chapter! Slightly longer...please enjoy! And lettuce pies go to: heather, LaPetiteMouse, Kiaga, and Laramie! Thanks for reviewing!

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**A Conversation**

Hem's frantic footsteps slowed as he neared Saliman's Bardhouse – his home. _His home..._now that he was settled in, and since Zelika had – well, since _that _had happened – the thought no longer gave him the same feelings of wonderment and joy as they had when he had first fully realised that he now had a home – a proper, loving home – to call his own. The seemingly unconquerable dull, numb fog, streaked through with anguish, which covered his mind and actions, did not leave any room for feeling grateful, or loved, or comfortable. Hem did not even worry about being thrown out of it nowadays. He did not have the willpower to truly think about the material things in his life. He'd long since stopped going to the School. None of the teachers had been able to disturb the fog, and indeed none of them had tried with much enthusiasm, for they recognised that Hem was mostly dead in his mind. Even those students who had once teased him with such gusto finally gave up trying to irritate him, unnerved by the blank darkness in his once-youthful and naïve eyes. Unnatural, they called him. Brain-dead, spiritless, sleepwalker, Black Crow... After a while, it became apparent to everyone that the school was not doing him any good, and he was gently removed from lessons, much to the relief of most of the School.

The sun was mostly above the horizon now. The inhabitants of the Bardhouse would soon be up, and notice that he had gone...not that they would really worry, of course, with the possible exception of Saliman. Oddly enough, the thought did not perturb him in the least. In fact, it rather appealed to him – disappearing from the surface of the earth and from people's minds forever, too far away to do them any harm, too far away to be harmed. Despite the rapidly rising heat, his body rebelled at the unconscious implications, and he shivered. Passing under a baked, cracked sandstone arch, he quickly stepped through a pool of cool shadows, his sandals making a furtive, forlornly soft tap on the ever-enduring stone flooring of the courtyard, and made his way like an unfaithful servant to the back door of the house. The well-made mahogany door was unlocked, and swung open with a slight creak when he nudged it with a shoulder. Hem removed his sandals, and slipped sideways through the door – and ran straight into a somewhat broad, comfortingly warm chest smelling faintly of sweat and oranges.

Saliman's hair was loose, and he wore a simple, undyed cotton robe of the type used to dry off after bathing – evidently he had not been expecting to meet anyone around the house this early. The aroma suggested a trip to raid the kitchens to Hem's nose – a fact he registered only faintly, as if he were somehow detached from the proceedings, a feeling he had had almost constantly since the event which had changed his life forever. But the thing that Hem did notice, almost with a shock, were his eyes. Saliman's dark brown eyes, usually so serene and yet twinkling with a cheerful spirit that infected all around him, were overcast – almost like Hem's own. It was like looking at himself through another person's eyes. Had Hem been his normal self, he would have also remembered that he had not had much communication with Saliman over the past few weeks, preferring instead to spend every waking hour in the Healing Houses, where the patients did not mind his glazed expression and dull demeanour. In fact, the two had not had a meaningful conversation since Maerad had defeated Sharma more than a month ago. Perhaps Saliman had been like this for a while, and he had simply not been attentive enough and interested enough to notice it?

"I had not expected to see you here so early...what were you doing exactly, Hem?" Saliman's eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows seemed to lock into an almost crossing position. But before the unfortunate Minor Bard had time to emit a dull response, Saliman interrupted and said "But no matter. Its importance pales beneath what I must discuss with you. I have been meaning to ask you about your recent...detachment from society. Hem, I do understand what you're going through, and I just want you to know that, if you need to tell someone your thoughts, then just come to me. We have been through so much together, and I couldn't bear to lose you now. Zelika-"

"Shut up! Just go away and leave me alone! I don't want to say anything! I don't want to cause so much hurt to everyone! I don't want to live any longer! Just get away from me before you d-die too!"

Hem rushed out of the house, running madly through the awakening city. A few market traders stared at the young boy as he tripped over the wheels of a cart of flour being unpacked, but no-one else seemed to give him much thought. Absolutely perfect for a nothing like himself...as Hem ran, tripping over bricks and stones and making no note of direction, he left a trail of furiously hot, salty tears. Even when the pain had almost become too much to bear, spilling over into an abyss of numb, almost non-existent thoughts, he had never cried, never relinquished his hold on the fateful events which haunted him. But now, they fell inexorably and freely, peppering his path with an almost tangible grief.

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**A/N: **OK, that's it! Please review...reviewers get lettuce jelly! I'll be on holiday from the 12th to the 20th, with very limited internet access, so I may not update for a while. I will try to, though. ~NSTAN


	3. A Comfort

**A Comfort**

**A/N: **_So, here it is, a little late because I'm on holiday with only a very faint WLAN signal from the next block that keeps dying on me: The next chapter of Flight of Death. Enjoy! Thanks also to my reviewers: Maia of the Moon, Kiaga, heatherlynn, and Laramie. Here's your lettuce jelly! Now, on with the chapter!_

The dying rays of the sun glanced off Ela's hair, making the short, roughly cut black curls shine a little – a rare occurrence, for she almost never had the presence of mind to wash it, or the inclination to; she regarded such frivolous uses of precious water to be somewhat silly and inconsequential. Still, her hair shone now with the shade of coppery light that seemed almost to be a characteristic of the city. Somehow, the warm, dying glow seemed to personify Turbansk's temperament perfectly; it was one of the things that had instantly appealed to Hem from the very first time he'd been there. The sense that everybody cared about you, and that you were safe from anything, abounded in the city. Not that he felt it now, of course; but that had been his very first impressions of the great city, and if he was inclined to, then he would still be able to feel it now: the spirit of Turbansk keeping a silent, benevolent watch over her children .

Ela had finished her duties at the market in her capacity as apprentice to a seamstress, helping the old lady to sell her goods and tidying up the cart after her. It had been a relatively normal day, too; her time spent helping the seamstress, Mistress Dambe, was a time she loathed, being a free spirit, a street child by birth. She'd been adopted by a kindly but lowly peasant family, but although they had tried to bring her up as well as they could, there still resided in her the temptation to bite that had been drummed into her by the harsh life she had lived as an orphan on the streets. On this particular day, interesting things had, yet again, failed to happen. The only event even slightly worthy of note had been the sudden overturning of the cart, early in the morning, by an obviously distressed, obviously foreign boy. She shook her head; crying like a baby in public, and not uttering a word of apology after disturbing people's property? Anyone could see that he hadn't any manners. It had taken her an age – a distinctly _uncomfortable_ one – to repack everything into the cart, and it had ruined her fine woollen dress. It wasn't that she cared particularly – but the housekeeper would, and no one ever crossed Mistress Lens…not if they wanted to escape alive, at least.

_She won't mind, _she thought. _I mean, I've just returned from service in the city! Hopefully, she'll be so glad to see me that she won't even notice the dirt till I leave again next week! _She knew that this was, at best, overly optimistic, and, at worst, idiotic; but she was euphoric at the thought of being home again, even if it was only for a short time. The farm that was all the home she'd ever had was just outside the great, fabled city gates, a sweet place that, though plain and somewhat ramshackle, was a great place to the young, almost naïve (despite her trying early years) girl. Now, only a few paces from the gates, she fancied she could already smell the soft violet scent of the little farmhouse, and she began to skip vivaciously and hastily down the barrenly empty road, eyes closed to the world, threadbare satchel swinging wildly, hair flying out behind her in an almost incomprehensibly blatant picture of pure delight –

Until she stumbled headlong over a small clump of person lying prone by the side of the road just beyond the gate. The collision knocked all the soaring happiness and hope out of her mind like a shot bird, as well as the air, and for a few stretching moments her brain scrambled to catch up with the certainly unexpected event which had just occurred. Just as she began to comprehend it fully, she sprang up, horrified at the potential damage she might have done to the baby – only to realize that what she had taken as such was, in fact, a boy only a few years younger than herself. Smiling gently at his folly in lying beside a dirty road at such an hour, she bent down and brushed aside a few locks of black hair from his eyes – and stopped dead. It was the boy from the market. It _had _to be. Though she had only seen him for a few fleeting seconds that morning, she had noted the dark olive skin and unruly long hair. Besides, he still had tear drops on his face. Who else in the city would have collapsed by the side of the road crying, but a foreigner? The citizens of Turbansk were brought up to be dignified when in emotional pain…

When Hem woke, it was with a great difficulty, as if some strange god had wished to keep him there in his realm, for some dark purpose he could, perhaps unfortunately, guess at. And it seemed that no sooner had he escaped from that strangeness than he was somehow taken to another one, for when he pried open his unwilling eyes it was into the face of a Turbanskian girl that he gazed. Or perhaps woman? She seemed to be in that awkward state between the two…and the surprise in his own eyes was reflected perfectly in her disconcertingly warm, liquid brown ones. In fact, all in all, some aspects of the situation were oddly parallel to that in which he had met Zelika…For some reason that he could not even begin to guess at, he did not shy away from the mention of her name, even in his mind.

"Er, he-llo?' he ventured finally, almost timidly, he thought furiously. The extreme awkwardness of the setup was getting to him. The mysterious apparition brought her head up sharply, similarly embarrassed, raised her thin arms, and began to defend herself.

"I'm dreadfully sorry! I did not mean to, um, infringe on your, um, p-p…" Here the unknown girl seemed to give up on trying to defend her actions, and settled for going red instead. This was fine by Hem, who was in no mood for idle banter now that his prior embarrassment had worn off.

And so they sat side by side on the dusty road, and watched the dying sun drift slowly beneath the horizon, seeming as reluctant as Hem to let go of the day. He felt the blackness rise within him once again. Shaken off temporarily by the arrival of the girl, the gloom surrounded him and threatened to choke him within its noxious, deadly, cloying sweetness…

"You know, I've never really thought about it much."

"Huh?" Hem started and turned to face the strange girl – but she did not face him. Her face was lifted towards the golden light, catching the last rays of the sun, and her somehow fragile eyelids were closed, unfeminine short eyelashes tracing twin delicate arcs above her cheekbones. A small smile had materialized on her lips, and the blush was almost completely gone.

"About why we're happy. I mean, it's not like there's a reason to be, what with all the horrible, horrible things going on in this world…But we are. Or most of us are, anyway." She opened her eyes and darted a quick, almost unbearably perceptive glance towards the startled boy. Luckily for him, she closed them again and continued, "And I think that it's…because we need to be. We need to be, for all those who love us, and for ourselves. Because if we're not happy, then we're not ourselves. And we _need _to be ourselves. It's how the world works, I guess."

Hem was staring at her by now. Why was this strange girl randomly giving him a sermon on happiness? He hadn't asked for it or anything and he was pretty sure that all the evidence of his crying had gone…

She leapt up with a start, and picked up her satchel with the kind of iron strength only ever born of extreme haste and necessity. Utterly bewildered, Hem cried out in spite of himself, "Where are you going?!"

The girl looked downwards, startled out of the madness that seemed to have come over her. "I need to go. The gates are closing, and I can't get locked out! I'm sorry for intruding on you and saying all that weird stuff. Something just sort of…came over me. Sorry a thousand times!" She bowed quickly, turned with an amazing speed that Hem would not have thought possible, and ran at full pelt down the hill towards the gates.

He watched her go, still shell-shocked by the complete strangeness of their encounter, but with an odd sort of peace in his heart. As he turned to trudge back up the hill, and the last rays of the sun disappeared fully, a new sensation crossed his mind – hope. It was a feeling he had been so unaccustomed to over the last few weeks that he barely registered its existence, turning his thoughts instead to ridiculing the strange girl's theory. It seemed somewhat idiotic to him, something thought up in half a second…

There was a long way to go to the top of the hill, just as there was a long way for any mere suggestion of happiness to go to the top of his mind, but if he, and it, took it one step at a time, then they might just get there.

**A/N: **_Meh. Well, that's it! Personally, it's my least favourite chapter so far, and I think Ela's POV wasn't great, but that's me. Review and tell me what you think, and get lettuce filled chocolates! Oh yes, Wolf Bakeries are moving up into the world of fine chocolates… ~NSTaN_


	4. A Vision

**A/N: **_I'm sorry it's been so long! Homework and projects have stopped me from updating this for a while. Thanks to GossipQueen2000, Kiaga, and Laramie, my faithful reviewers. Enjoy! ~NSTaN_

Black locks swam as snakes through the shattering gale, flapping furiously in the wind that threatened them and seeming almost to be alive. The force of the storm was such that each individual hair, propelled by the inexorable powers so much that they left welts on their owner's cheek. But she had no time for unruly hair. Her crystal blue eyes, wolflike in their directness, pierced through the impenetrable clouds as if they saw what others could not. Though the expression was somewhat glazed, her young face was contracted in obvious concern, and her lips were parted as if in shock. As the lightning darted down to earth around her, steadily increasing its dreadful tempo, she remained oblivious to the danger and the discomfort her physical body must surely be facing. Her slender, pale hands suddenly took hold of the thin, decorative iron rail which kept her from the storm, and pressed so hard against it that her knuckles turned deathly bone white. Small globes of prickling power appeared around her hands, emanating an angry blue light, as her pupils dilated impossibly. Finally, she snapped out of her rigid pose, and spun rapidly, obviously highly unsettled by something she had just seen, and made to stride away from the scene and into the welcoming, friendly amber light of the room behind her. Full skirts, made of the thin wool which the people of the Innail Fesse so highly prized, and coloured with a curiously dark blue dye, swirled around her hidden legs, just brushing the warm red of the floor tiles and contrasting unusually with them. As she took a determined, definite step, she collided with an ambiguous, shadowed form.

At first, the girl seemed afraid, and let out a little gasp, but she was soon reassured, for she then straightened up, a tinge of joy possibly colouring the otherwise grave, tired landscape of her emotions.

"You scared me, Cadvan!" she breathed, and then hurried on. "Listen, please! I felt the...the presence of death in the air at dinner, and I felt that it was important, immeasurably important. So I ran up here, and I tried to See...Oh, it was horrible!" She fixed her eyes upon him, holding him there with a strange, almost unintelligible command that seemed out of place in a slight teenager such as herself. "Hem...is going to die."

In her left eye there materialised a tiny, shining tear, which reflected the soft starlight above, and threw it off in a million quivering facets. "He...was spiralling downwards into a dark, dark hole of utter blackness. And I knew in an instant that it was death itself."

She collapsed into Cadvan's arms, openly sobbing now. "I-I don't know what I'll do if Hem dies! I've lost him, and found him, and lost him, and found him again...to lose him again would be the deepest...the fullest sorrow I could imagine."

"Sshhh, Maerad," he said quietly, his head bowed over Maerad's, dark strands cascading into his face and eyes. "There's nothing we can do now. We can lend him our strength if we try, but we cannot get to Turbansk in an instant. I swear, Hem will be fine. We must hope for the best and try to get to the heart of your vision. Maerad, I promise. I promise. It will be fine."

Maerad raised her face, eyes glittering and defiant. "But...We have to do all we can. We just have to...or life will never quite be the same again...I have a feeling that, if Hem's life comes to an end before its natural span, something will happen. Even though we have sung the Treesong, I believe a part of it remains in him still. We cannot let it escape!"

She straightened as if she had come to some decision and, tugging furiously on Cadvan's hand, she marched inside like a woman transformed.

"Get Silvia. And Malgorn. Please! And hurry," she said beseechingly, all the while setting out a circle of the most comfortable silken pillows in the room. Cadvan nodded sharply, comprehending her motive in a moment, and left the room quickly.

Only when she had arranged everything to her satisfaction did she let herself sink to the floor and whisper, utterly exhausted of all her cares, "Let him be fine. Please." And she remained there, inert, completely silent, until the others rushed into the room.

"Maerad! Cadvan has told us what you Saw. I'm so sorry...!" cried Silvia, her auburn hair coming to an abrupt halt behind her. Like Maerad's, her eyes shone with the determination only those know who have come to a true crossroads in their life, and to a true crisis, and have had to stand and watch their comrades being slain beside them; that determination which comes from knowing that there is nothing whatsoever in this whole universe that you can do, and yet trying to do it anyway for the people you love.

"It's not too late yet. It's...never...too...late..." choked Maerad, overcome with emotion. "Just do it!" she hissed, with uncharacteristic sharpness. As if bidden, the three sat hastily down on their cushions. The four joined hands, and closed their eyes, aiming to rise above Edil-Amarandh and become as one power, to vanquish the darkness in the vision. Maerad felt the soft, understanding pressure of the three, not inconsiderable, powers against hers, and she let them enter her mind. They combined to such an extent that Maerad was only very dimly aware of her own identity; everything was _us. _In her mind, the image that had tormented her so showed itself before their eyes, and they set themselves to the task of lending strength to the boy in the picture, and fighting the darkness below and within him.

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Many thousands of leagues south, Hem felt a presence leap into his mind. It was a curious one, and, though unfamiliar, it reeked familiarity and, above all, an overpowering love and caution. He laughed bitterly, and the sound echoed off the plains eerily. He no longer needed such things. Let the earth have them. Let the loved have them, the ones who felt no torment or neverending black despair.

And he leapt.

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**A/N: **_There it is. Chapter 5 will be coming shortly, and that will probably conclude the story, but I may also write an epilogue for it. Please review, and concrit would be appreciated. ~NSTaN_

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	5. A Choice

**A/N: **_So, this is the penultimate chapter of FoD (I've decided to split the last chapter into 2, at the advice of Kiaga and my own wish to do the story justice. Sorry for not updating for ages, and thanks to my reviewers. This chapter skips between PoVs quite a bit, but it was necessary and I hope it doesn't annoy any of you. Enjoy! :)_

_Edit: I've edited this chapter slightly, having noticed some horrible flaws..._

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Maerad felt her contact with Hem's mind, so painstakingly achieved, sever suddenly, and she cried out slightly in shock and fear. Immediately, the other three redoubled their efforts._ Come, Maerad! _urged Cadvan through mindspeak. _More than ever, we need to try. Find him. Now! I feel that Hem may come to harm even as you reel from the shock. Don't hesitate, whatever you do. _Maerad nodded, although aware he could not see it, and tried again to find the presence of Hem's mind. She had to find him and find out what had happened. With a growing sense of unease, and a fresh desperation, she scanned the vicinity of Turbansk for the power which usually emanated from the young Bard she had only just come to know; who had been so conspicuously absent from her life in the past weeks, who had been such a source of strength during that awful final battle that had almost claimed both their lives. Maerad would need that strength again. It could not be allowed to simply wink out of existence, she was sure; if not for those who loved him, then for the path of greatness he seemed almost destined to walk in this world.

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Perhaps every moment he had lived had been for this one decision, this one great, pivotal time when his whole life seemed to come together into a clear, solid whole. Hem had been so sure of himself before, but now, as the dust beneath his feet started to compress, treacherously slowly, and his bare feet left the earth they had been born on, something changed, almost imperceptibly. He had heard tell that, when you were about to die, your life flashed before your eyes. But he knew now that was untrue. It slid. It crept through your mind, conquering every feeling and filling with some strange resolution the darkest corners and orifices of it. It played a delicate havoc with your limbs, forcing them down, and brought the tears to your eyes. When Hem had first seen Zelika, back in the days before the Singing that had made him so famous and robbed him of his life and senses...when he had seen an inquisitive, paradoxically warm pair of ice-blue eyes peering into the chest where he hid in the looted caravan. The memories filled his mind, clouded his judgement. And then they sped up, flashing as he had been told, rushing in a jumbled, strangely logical disorder: seeing Saliman, framed in the doorway of their old house, glorious in his blue ceramic armour, knowing he might never see the man again...the Osidh Am, rising in their dreadful, unbearable beauty from a land of such red splendour it brought a new wave of tears...seeing the Hulls slaughter a boy Hem had known, laughing at the youthful, naive horror in his face...they built up into a heap of tangled emotions, vibrant with his former life and loves, consoling him and yet making him desperate to know them again. They came inexorably on, driven on by the cruel, crushing instincts of the self, overwhelming his defences and his will.

And still Hem's leap continued, sluggishly sketching an arc in the blue, blue ocean of the sky he had loved from the moment he first saw it. He told his feet to stop, panicking lest the memories leave him with not a recognition. For he did not want to die. He realised it painfully, knowing that he'd known it long before that moment; but the truth of it sank like a scalpel into his thoughts. _He did not want to die. _Perversely, he wished to scream it to the skies, even knowing as he felt the impulse that he would die before the breath reached his lips.

Time, understanding in its wise, yet overly just mind that its natural course had been diverted, reared its head, screaming. And Hem dropped like a stone.

In his final desperation, he sent out one last message to the demure, deserted warmth of this amazing land that he had only just realised he loved so fiercely. _SALIMAN! MAERAD! ZELIKA! Anyone who'll listen, hear me! Help me! I don't want to die! _And then the pitiful transmission bounced off the heat and was gone with its originator.

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Hearing a sudden scream of mental anguish that seemed all too familiar to her in its tones, Maerad leapt in mind onto a gust of hot Suderain wind, and willed Hem to herself. Knowing with a sluggish dread what would happen, she shrieked in the mindspeech: _Don't die. Oh, please, Hem, don't die! _She locked her eyes shut, caught in an onslaught of despair and such a piercing pain it seemed as if she heard the Treesong again and was caught in its endless chronicle of unflinching pasts and lives. Screaming inhumanly against the tempest of blackness, she struck into its heart – and fell with her brother.

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"That'll be five coppers," said Ela to the well-dressed lad who had come to collect his master's new breeches. She would never admit it, and she was probably wrong, but she thought that, well, maybe, this boy liked her. And, she had to say, she sort of liked him. He hung round the stall in the market far more than he needed to, and he acted oddly shy when she spoke to him. Mayhap this was the time to get to know him...After all, she wouldn't regret it, even if it came to naught.

Smiling, she leaned forward on her table and asked him in a careless, pleasant manner, "What's your name? I see you a lot round here...my name's Ela, by the wa- Ah!"

Ela fell backwards into the none too comfortable wooden chair provided by her seamstress mistress, in the grip of one of the inexplicable visions she had only too often nowadays. "Uh, what's the matter, miss?!" she heard the boy say, his voice higher than usual, tense and panicky. But she could not answer him now...

Against a terrible backdrop of ochre Suderain rock, a black, shadowy figure fell, legs pumping, crying out silently for mercy and help and death and comfort, just for _life. _Jerking his head up from his pillow, Saliman cast about the room wildly. Hem had called for him, he knew it. And he was in pain. Falling out of the tall, simple and yet imposing bed, he crawled to the door and then ran, not caring who saw him in his nightclothes, nothing on his mind but answering to the call of the boy who needed him, finding only now the true extent of his attachment to Hem. The early morning breezes were cold, but the ground was already scalding, and he felt his skin crack as he stepped.

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Released just as suddenly from the vision as it had come, Ela forced herself to stand, feeling the table topple from the force of her knees. But no matter. The boy needed her now. Racing through the archway of the market, she tripped over several objects in her path, absorbed in her praying for this boy she had only met once. Whom she now rushed to save.

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United in only one thing, unaware of the existence of each other in the same place, Ela, Saliman, Silvia, Malgorn, and Cadvan leapt through the air, each desperate in a way they did not quite understand to reach Hem and his sister, who even now lay in the dust under a merciless sun.

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**A/N: **_K, review y'all! Next chapter should be up soon, but I can't promise, knowing my schedule. So, review and hope, faithful readers! ~ NSTaN_


	6. A Violation

**A/N:**_ Here is what will probably be the last chapter of Flight of Death. Some things may seem slightly odd, but I will be writing a sizeable epilogue to tie off most strands and leave a satisfying conclusion. Firstly, I'm hugely sorry for not updating sooner. My end of year exam week is coming up, and it has been coupled with several GCSE exams, 2 concerts, preparation for the London MCM Expo this month, etc, etc. All I can do is apologise. Secondly, as always, thanks to my reviewers for gracing my humble story with their praise and criticism. Thirdly, let us get on with the story!_

**A Violation**

The electric crackle of hasty magecraft. The white light. The sudden wind. And then…the silence. The bodies were a dark blot on the red-brown barren ground, providing a contrast that was rare on the unforgiving, enduring slopes of the ground outside Turbansk. A little further away there was fertile land, upon which farmers owned vineyards; the soil was good for wine, and Turbansk was famous for its alcohol as well as for its virtues as a School. There, cool breezes swathed the ground, keeping it from drying out. But here, the air was still and hot as the wasteland which it bordered, and no errant winds played with the strands of black hair splayed on the harsh ground. All was quiet. No animals inhabited this patch of barren land, and no footsteps could be felt or heard to disturb the ancient rocks, or the unconquerable heat, or the motionless figures. Apart from the sudden fall of the people, there had been no change in the landscape all day. No; all month. Nothing in this space under the cliff ever changed. And it never would. It would just keep existing until the end of time and beyond, one of those places which no one cares about, which no one ever notices, but which exists, peacefully, unheralded, all the same.

* * *

This was the place. She knew it. Here she would find...what, exactly? And then Ela's heart dropped through her stomach. A sort of morbid slowness affected her senses, forcing her to walk ever more laboriously, dragging her steps towards the two bodies lying prone on the floor of the valley. Too far away from them to see their identities, she knew with a sickening certainty who the smaller figure was. Yet why was it sickening to her? Just why did…it matter to her whether he lived or died? He was, after all, just an ignorant foreigner she had met by the roadside. However, as she edged forward, she knew this was not the case – that perhaps she had been deluding herself to think it, that there must be some kind of connection between them. For why would she have a vision of the death of a complete stranger if they were not tied together by something more than happenstance?

At that moment, a huge mass swerved, tilting into the momentum like a horse, around the bend of the rock on the opposite side to Ela, and crashed across the ground, landing beside the heap of bodies. His impact sent a wave of vaporised sweat towards Ela…the man had run here, too. The back of her neck prickled uncomfortably as she realised the similarity to her own condition. Could he also have seen the body fall in an unbidden vision, against that terrible backdrop of clay-dust cliff and cornflower sky? Indeed, who was he? Ela had always known that men meant danger, especially strong ones like this specimen, and especially to a young girl like herself. Everyone always told her so. "Stay away from danger, and the danger will not pursue you of its own accord. What is not done is not regretted." Just now, however, even this pre-instilled, almost paralysing sense of fear took a back seat to her overwhelming desire to know. Really know…what had happened here, and who had plummeted to their deaths. And maybe even a sense of grief, although she could not tell the cause. Forcing her limbs into a stilted trot, she neared the dark heap as the heavy man let out a howl of piercing pain and woe. The cry of someone who has lost a reason to live. And as the man let his pain be known, it seemed to Ela that he was joined by other voices. That of a man, hoarse, rough, and utterly deathly. Of a woman, a rich, raw sound that echoed off the cliff. And a lesser one, somewhere in between the two in pitch; quieter, and yet still very much there. Almost like the location itself, in fact. Powerful, if only by its existence, but very much obscure. Unreal in a way not many things ever are: like a girl who sits in the corner of a room, dressed like everyone else, reading a book and never venturing an opinion on anything, seeming always to be there and yet never fully recognising itself.

* * *

"So, how is everything at home?"

"Oh, not so well. I suppose you could say that my parents are displeased with my decision."

"But why? This is one of the noblest establishments in the city. No, in the Suderain! Surely they cannot disapprove of your work here?"

"I know, I know. Of course I tell them that, but…Papa always wished for me to marry someone rich and bring the family fortune. I may still do that, but I would also be working. And he disapproves of that. Obviously he intended my work as a seamstress's assistant to be only a distraction."

The owner of the first voice grunted, and then the other voice moved away. "I need to tend to Maerad. She's in an awful state. You probably know more than me of healing, but…well, you can see for yourself what the chances are."

"Yes. This may seem crude, but it may have been better had she died in her fall. At least by delaying the impact and shielding Hem, she saved her brother's life. She didn't waste her suicidal leap. But she has paid the price for it."

Hem opened his eyes slowly, relishing the delight of letting the sunlight filter slowly in to illuminate his mind and clean his intellect. Stretching lithely, like a wildcat after a long rest (like Zelika), he hit a warm hand that radiated affection just by its soft touch.

"Saliman?" he asked, sitting up.

The wise, funny eyes looked at him with relief from a face that definitely had grown a few additional folds and wrinkles since he had last seen it. Though the expression in his eyes was one of welcoming joy, Hem sensed a darkness there too. Saliman had always had a bit of dark tempering the ecstasy in his spirit, but, like the wrinkles, it had grown a fair bit. Knowing he was the cause saddened him, too, but the remorse was drowned by a growing sense of urgency from the conversation he had overheard.

"What's happened to Maerad?!" he asked, looking around the small, whitewashed ward feverishly, as if he might catch a sight of her somewhere there.

Saliman's face fell visibly. It was obvious to Hem that he had wanted to keep this part from him for short while, at least. "Do you really wish to know? I'm not sure I should tell you so soon. I do trust you, but the shock would probably be slightly too much while you're this frail..." His voice trailed away. Hem knew that it caused Saliman pain to be so condescending to him, but he did not care. He needed to find Maerad.

"Saliman, I need to know!" Hem leant forward, imploring Saliman wordlessly to tell him.

Saliman sighed. "Promise me you won't go rushing off to see her. She needs her rest," he said, though his knowledge of Hem's obstinacy told him that he would not heed his words. His loyalty to the boy forced him onwards, despite the fact that it would hurt them all. He owed it to him.

"Maerad seems to have been able to detect your peril. In a huge feat of magecraft, she was able to transport herself here in mind. Seeing your leap, she then managed to materialise bodily and fall with you. Such a thing should be impossible, but I suppose she has retained at least a few of her powers as the One. In the split second before you reached the ground, she activated a shield. It slowed your fall just enough that you didn't perish, but only suffered broken bones and a major head wound. Maerad was not so lucky. She took the brunt of the fall. She's in the intensive care ward, being treated by the best healers we have; she took a broken spine and cracks in the skull. Probably, she'll live; definitely, she will never be the same again. Brain damage and paralysis are probable."

Hem looked deep into those brown pools of sadness and empathy, and knew that it had to be true. But it couldn't be. Maerad was an unshakeable rock in his life. She couldn't die, or suffer so badly, because of something he had done. His own stupid melodramatic fantasies had led to something so unspeakably horrendous. Why had he done it? Why was the world so cruel? In stories, the depressed hero always died tragically, or recovered from his depression. They never lost more and more people who were important to them, until they ached to destroy everything, to enjoy the oblivion they had craved for so long, and had been unsuccessful in attaining. Who would be next? Saliman? Irc?

Slowly, Hem's eyes flooded over like a great river, sweeping away all he had ever known and loved. Inhibitions and knowledge were gone in a torrent of sheer madness. He lunged forward, unaware of anything other than the intent to kill, to end a life like his had been ended, though he was still living. Collapsing, too weak to stand or carry out a movement, he knelt on the hard, unforgiving floor, sobbing like a child and yet feeling more numb in some ways than ever.

**A/N: **_Well, there it is. Please review! All will be explained next chapter, including Ela's relationship with Hem. REVIEW!_

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	7. A Healing

**A Healing**

**A/N: **_I know I said this would be the last chapter (again), but while I know exactly what will go in the epilogue, the change would be far too abrupt. While this chapter IS horrendously short, the next will come soon. Sooner than usual, hopefully. And I think it's better this short, tbh._

Hem sank through the layers of his mind, seeking that oblivion in which he was nothing and in which he could transform into an animal. It was so easy, so beautifully easy, to become something other until only some small figment of his consciousness existed to keep him from non-existence. He did not will himself into some shape or form, he simply floated in the nothingness. There was nothing in his mind. Nothing around him. Nothing at all to indicate that he had a life, somewhere outside. That he had a name...

* * *

Outside the numbness of his mind, Hem's body changed. His breathing slowed, becoming fainter and fainter, until only a small fluttering remained, like a dying baby bird struggling to escape from a vice. Limbs stiffened as if frozen, and yet remained perfectly warm, heated by the fires of impending self-knowledge and of peace. All creases faded from his young face, transforming him into a beautiful, serene god who slept there, in a trance, upon a hospital bed, slowly fading from reality in a way that no-one ever had before. He was not becoming unreal; rather, he was becoming far more real than anything around him. Hem was truly enlightened now, or at least his body gave that impression. Inside, the truth was beginning to show. Latent Elidhu powers connected with a supreme fact unknown by humans could not fully soothe to eternal sleep the mind of a disturbed boy.

* * *

_Do you truly want this? _The voice was implacable and otherworldly, cool and uncaring, but impossibly familiar. The dream-Hem opened his eyes. The figure which stood before him, contrasting against a background of soft dove greys emanating kindness and warmth, was handsome – hugely so. Black hair like his own drifted in lazy waves to cover his shoulders, just beginning to cover brilliant blue eyes eclipsing even his sister's in startling strangeness. The man appeared to be in his mid-twenties, but Hem could not be sure, for he was cloaked in an air of uncertainty which seemed to complement strangely the omniscient glow of his face and eyes. Tall and tranquil, he was a vision of perfection.

"W-who are you, sir?" asked Hem when the temptation to know proved too much.

_You. Or rather, the person you wish you were..._answered the other Hem. He felt his own disappointment, and knew that it was only a confirmation of something the real Hem had already known. _I am sorry. But your time – my time – is running out. You must make the final choice now, before it is decided for you. So. Do you wish to fade from existence forever? It is not death. It is more than death, for there is no expectation of an afterlife, untrue as it may be, for comfort. This is the truest death._

Hem answered immediately. This was the answer to all his hours spent suffering, presented to him by himself on a platter made of nothing. "Yes! I do, definitely. All I ever do is cause pain to others. To my parents, to Saliman, Zelika, and Ela, to Maerad! Please!"

_As you wish, I suppose. _And it ended.

* * *

_Hem? Can you hear me? I'm so sorry for everything. I was too wrapped up in my own pains and in my love for Cadvan...I guess I didn't notice that you were feeling horrible too. Or at least, not to the extent that you were. And now I've been punished for it by myself. But you'll help me, won't you? We'll survive together, you and me. We can't give up now! Hem? Hem? Hem, can't you hear me? Hem...!_

* * *

Into the eye of blackness rushed Hem, flying faster than when he had fallen from the cliff. He breathed in the beautiful scent of eternity, becoming nothing as he fell, fizzling out on the outside as well as inside. By the end of a microsecond, the hole was already obliterating his whole vision. He could sense it, the end of all his worries coming gradually towards him and taking him away on a horse of death that was not there. When he heard Maerad's voice..._horrible...won't...together...me...can't give up now! Hem? _He strained to hear, suddenly afraid of this horse and of the road which he had chosen. One last message from his sister couldn't hurt, could it? _HEM!!! Where are you?! I can't lose you! Hear me, Hem!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

No. This couldn't happen. Maerad needed him, Maerad truly needed him. But he was gone now. This wasn't going to happen. He had chosen, hadn't he? He had chosen to ignore all the people in his life who loved him. It wasn't just Maerad. Saliman, even that girl called Ela and Cadvan. They all needed him to exist, if only for their worlds to be truly complete. They had lost him so many times already, especially Maerad. He had been taken from her as a child, and she had thought him dead after the Fall of Turbansk, and again when they had conquered the Nameless. He had become as a wraith after Zelika's death, had jumped from a cliff...and now he would leave her finally and most devastatingly.

Now, he would die. He could not let it happen. Could he?

* * *

**A/N: **_Please tell me if that was too morbid or too melodramatic! I felt it kind of suited the feel of the chapter, but let me know if you feel otherwise. I normally disapprove of too many exclamation marks...heh. Again, sorry for the wait. Now I shall surely see if all of my readers have deserted me..._

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	8. Epilogue

**A/N: **_Hi. OK, so it's been a few weeks, but I've been really busy and the point is, it's here now. This is a reasonably short and pointless chapter, but it really was needed because of the cliffhanger last chapter. This takes the focus completely off that, so you can figure out for yourself what's happened in the last 100 years or so. =P enjoy!_

**Epilogue:**

**A Reminiscence**

It was like that day again. The day when he had truly reached the limits of despair, and when the sun had shone as it did now – a fierce, strengthening blaze – and when he had been sitting here, on this wall overlooking the vineyards. It was so similar, and yet so different. Perhaps, thought Hem, it was fate reminding him of how much he had changed since then, and how lucky he was to even be alive amongst all the beauty that was life. But then, Hem had never held much with fate, and ever since those events (aeons ago, it seemed to him) he had never held much with contemplating the past, either. The past could be troublesome, and if it was sweet to the mind to remember good times, it was a cloying sweetness, telling him to be joyful for what he had now, all these people who inexplicably loved him. And yet the urge to forget his principles overtook Hem, and he looked to the figure at his side.

"Ela, remember when we first met each other?"

The dark, lank hair shifted slightly, and he caught a glimpse of Ela's deep brown eyes. It was not completely clear what she was thinking, an unusual occurrence between two who had grown so close.

"Yes...why do you ask? It was an unremarkable occasion involving a self-pitying, collapsed you and a philosophical, startling me. Although now that I think about it, that sudden bout of perceptiveness was probably an early sign of what was to come...?" Her voice turned questioning.

"Perhaps...I still can't understand why you didn't accept Saliman's offer, though."

Ela moved her head slightly, and her eyebrows tensed almost imperceptibly. "I was disturbed by their frequency and didn't want to raise more fuss. My foster parents were angry enough at me for my choice to work in the Healing Houses, and as long as Saliman helped me to keep the sight under control, I didn't wish to become a Bard and risk their wrath further. They were so good to me, and it would be a poor repayment if I went against all their wishes. Anyway, it would have felt like a farce, for I am not a Bard – I just have a slight touch of the Gift. I can't do anything other than occasionally see, and that is limited. I don't mind being ordinary." A hint of petulance and a challenge appeared in her tones.

"I suppose. But then..." Hem's eyes clouded with unpleasant memories, and with a growing sense of trepidation he said what he knew he shouldn't say. "Maerad...I miss her."

"Oh, Hem! Stop blaming yourself for it! She lived for a very long time considering how bad her injuries were!" The fire in her eyes softened. "But I understand. She recovered almost perfectly, and then that was taken away from you. Still, you did share some amazing experiences before she died. Just remember those...You can be proud of yourself. The only reason she kept on living was you. You nursed her incredibly well, and Cadvan died before her, at her bedside. She died happy, Hem, and it was down to you."

Hem stared at her in wordless thanks, showing her his gratitude for coping with him all these years, putting up with his nonsense. She would die soon, he knew, for she had already lived for longer than could be expected of someone who had only a touch of Bardic blood. And so he put all the things he could never say for fear of sounding ridiculous, for fear of giving her false hope, into that look. _I'm sorry_, he added as an afterthought in mindspeech, _and ridiculously happy that you've stayed with me so long._

Ela raised her head and looked back at him almost defiantly, seeming to ignore the gathering, girlish bloom which looked so out of place on her withered cheeks. _You know why that is. And my original intentions still stand. I beg you, Hem, will you honour them?_

"You know I cannot," he said carefully, measuring his words and the extent of the pain they would cause her. "When we tried, for that brief time a while ago, it didn't work. I just haven't been able to forget Zelika. I'm so sorry for this. I know that I could have loved you once, it's just that I am a different person. I really do appreciate all that you've done for me, and I almost can't bear the thought of you suffering so patiently. But I just can't. I hate myself for it, but it's the truth."

Instead of the small tantrums which had become common in their relationship, Hem heard a high, clear laugh, exuding contentment and satisfaction.

"You know, I'm happy. If you had accepted me, I would feel like a substitute, a replacement for Zelika. We're casual partners in all but name. We share a bed every night, and I know that you do feel for me. So...I'm happy, and I really do understand your feelings, Hem. I would do anything to make you feel happy."

Hem nodded, comprehending now Ela's simple devotion. He did not deserve it, he knew that; for one who had caused so much pain, he really was inordinately fortunate. In a way, it did not matter how long Ela lived, nor how much he missed Zelika. This was him. This was his own matter. He had lived a good life, tending to the ill of Turbansk, to make up for everything he had done, and while he still truly felt that it was never even going to begin to erase the total damage, it did help him to fall into the delusion that it would.

And so Hem, of the Circle of Turbansk, the Chosen One, looked up into an endless future, in which he could be free of suffering, free of inhibitions. That future would never be granted to him, but at that moment, the promise of the sky was too overwhelming, too majestic to deny. And so he sat there, on the boundaries of the greatest city that had ever been and, to his mind, ever would be, as the new day beckoned once again, invading the world with its splendour even as other parts of it were thrown into darkness, and as the life of the woman beside him ebbed away.

Perhaps it was finality that he craved. And perhaps, with this new day, he had achieved it.

**A/N: **_Hehe. Sorry to have such an exposition-based chapter, but I kind of enjoyed the way it ties up the story. Despite the fact that's it's only an 8 chapter story, and those chapters are short, I enjoyed writing this and I feel I'm a much better writer than when I started. The pacing in this fic is horrible, and I'm sorry for everything. Post with final reviews, everyone! ~NSTaN_


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